Meg
by T-Chan1
Summary: After years of shadowing Christine, and secretely admiring the phantom, Meg Giry finally starts her own life, and finds the love she's been wanting all her life in the phantom.
1. Meg 1

**__**

CHAPTER ONE

Staring at the throne that once held a great mystery, I approached the mask. This mask that hid a monster and confined him to his underground labyrinth, away from the rest of humanity. But I wonder, was he even human? Christine had referred to him as an angel, while others called him phantom. What was he to _me_?

I picked up the mask and just stared down at it. How do I explain my feelings to such simple-minded people? I am just a dancer to them. Christine was an actress and singer. She held the audience in her music and brought them to another world. I was just a part of the background that that other world contained. Would people ever understand the way I felt when I danced to this angel's opera _Don Juan Triumphant_? Would people ever understand how I feel when I dance to music in general? _He_ would.

Turning the mask over in my hands, memories that had become as nonexistent as the phantom himself, now became ghosts floating in my head...

_The Opera Populaire is not very old. In fact it is younger than I am. I remember the building during construction. I was twelve years old and very shy. He was twenty and also very shy. No one liked him because of his face. His name was Erik, and I was madly and deeply in love with him. His face never bothered me. My mother had always told me that looks do not matter, but that what is on the inside does. He seemed like such a kind soul. I would watch him from the shadows and wish that he would be the only one to see me. I was not afraid of his face, but of the mystery he held within himself. I wanted to touch him, to hold him and tell him that I knew what he was going through. I was awkward too. But my shyness prevented me from approaching him. _

We talked once, although I'm not sure he would remember our conversation. I had followed him down to the underground tunnel being built and hid in a corner. When he reached the bottom of the stairway I saw him fall to the floor. I got scared thinking that he had had a sort of stroke. I began to approach him when he did something I had never seen an adult do, he began to cry; to sob. I wanted to run to him right then, but I was only twelve; who would want a **pre-teen **comforting them? I turned to leave but then he said to me, "don't go."

I froze on the stairs and listened as he continued, "I enjoy your company, even though you don't talk to me. Even though you're afraid of me. Even though you're only a little girl, I-I enjoy your company. Somehow I don't feel so alone and closed when your there watching me; not out of caution, of course, but out of curiosity. Do I intrigue you that you would watch me so intently all day long?"

I turned to look at him. It was hard to see in the dark, so it was easier to ask my question. "Why were you crying?"

"Why does anyone cry?" I felt him stand up.

"I don't know."

"Well, why do **you **cry," his question startled me. It wasn't mocking or hard, but soft and gentle, genuinely sincere and curious. I was amazed that he didn't deny that he had been crying like all the other men at the worksite did; like my mother does. No one had ever cared about why **I** had cried before; no one had ever **cared **before period. This man had just opened me up unintentionally. Suddenly I felt something strong building in me as I replied, "I never thought about it before, why I cry. No one has. I'm just a child, and children cry all the time."

"Is this what your mother tells you?"

"Yes." 

"Pardon, but I beg to differ." I smiled at that, for I could feel his protection over me, and suddenly I hated my mother and all the construction men for hating **him**, Erik.

"I'm sorry that they don't like you. I see the way that they treat you even though you are the man behind this whole operation. They treat you like you mean nothing to this construction, yet **you **designed it. You never hurt anyone and you don't look like a monster to **me**. They are the monsters for not seeing how good you are on the inside. **I **see you. I see your eyes and they are not evil at all. Even in the dark, they glow a light that only an angel could make. **I see you**," I repeated and felt the heat rush to my face. I had never felt the way I did at that moment; never said such passionate words before. What had this man done to me? 

There was a pause and then I felt him approach me with a rapidness of a demon. I felt his hands on my shoulders and a chill ran down my back. We were alone. I wondered if he could see the red in my face, could feel my heart running up into my throat. I got scared again at the power radiating from his grasp on me. He could hurt me if he wanted to and no one would find me until **days **later. He was the boss architect and he could even make it so that no one finds me **at all**.

Suddenly I realized the danger I was in. Despite the blackness of the room, his overpowering body still left a shadow on me and I suddenly felt cold. Maybe I was wrong about him. What did I know about him really? Watching him for a year does not make me an expert on his life.

"Those are brave words for a twelve-year-old," he began, "and your ideas of me **will **change with time. Soon you will conform to the ideas of everyone else and believe me to be a monster. I am nothing but what I appear child." I felt him smile incredulously and my heart sank.

"My name is Megra, monsieur," I felt anger build in me. Not anger for **him**, but anger for myself. I had forgotten for a second that I was only a **child, **not to be taken seriously by anyone. I had been taught that all my life, how could I forget it now? Yet I had hoped that just like **I** could see past **his **face, **Erik** could see past **my** age. My insistence grew and I found myself saying, "**I see you**. You will **never** change for me."

"Grow up," he said as he brushed past me and headed up the stairs, "you're too young to be down here alone. It's dangerous. Come on up out of the dark."

I felt tears in my eyes and remembered his words, 'well, why do **you** cry?'

"I cry for you," I whispered in his direction as I headed up the stairs.

After that, we never spoke again, but I did still follow him around and I never heard a complaint escape his mouth. He had told me that he enjoyed my company, so I gave him all I could of it. His last words haunted me, despite their simple meaning. Did he mean more than the tunnel when he said to me, 'you're too young to be down here alone. It's dangerous. Come on up out of the dark'? The tunnel's darkness never stopped me from going down there before, but maybe it was himself he was speaking of. Maybe I said something that disturbed him. Maybe this mystery does not want to be solved. 

Putting the mask back on the throne I heard a tune that I had not heard since childhood. It was coming from behind the throne. As I reached behind I heard everyone leave. My mother called my name.

"I'm right behind you," I called to her and continued to reach for the sound. As I pulled the object from behind, I heard a shuffling sound and turned, but there was no one there.I looked at the object in my hands. It was a paper mache musical box, the shape of a barrel organ. Attached to it, was the figure of a monkey in Persian robes, playing the cymbals. How it started playing I did not know, but the tune was meant for me. This was the first song that I had learned to dance to, it had haunted me just like Erik's voice. 

"Meg?" The voice startled me and I turned to find Christine standing there.

"Christine! What are you doing here?" 

"I had to say goodbye to..."she looked around as if someone was going to come out. I knew who she was looking for; I was looking for him too. I had questions that needed to be answered and he was the only one who could answer them.

"Christine, you should leave. Raoul is waiting."

"Your right," she said sighing, "I love you Meg, and I will write as soon as I'm safe."

"Well you're not safe here, and you don't want to keep me waiting on that letter, do you?" I hugged her then and I felt her let out a sob.

"Why do you cry," I was surprised at what I had said, but she seemed not to notice. Instead she replied, "I love Raoul, I know I do. But I also know of my love for the phantom, _my angel, _and I don't know whom I love more. Meg, What if I am making a mistake?"

I pulled back and found myself saying the same thing Erik had said to me seven years ago, "you're too young to be down here alone. It's dangerous. Come on up out of the dark." She seemed to understand that I was speaking of the phantom because she nodded and turned to leave.

"I'll write you when Raoul and I get to Chagny." And with that she was gone. I sighed heavily and waited. Waited for what would not come. But I was a hopeless dreamer and hope was my middle name. So I stood there listening to that haunting tune from the music box, waiting for three specific words to come floating to me, waiting for an acceptance from the one person who attempted to know me all those years ago.

Christine had had _her _story, wasn't it _my_ turn? I have never been anybody important; I was a best friend, a daughter, and a dancer...

_A dancer._ I used to believe that dancing was my only reason for being, the only thing I needed to keep me sane. Dancing seemed to lift me up, to make me stronger than the world. I could dance with my eyes closed and see everything that I needed to. As I stood in the now empty labyrinth, I realized that the one who inspired me was the one who sang through Christine. I was never really any good until Christine became the Opera Populaire's new prima donna. She was his mask, he was her voice. Wasn't it time to unmask the beauty inside both Erik and myself? We are both hidden in the shadows, hiding from the world, waiting to be loved, and waiting for someone to see the real us.

I began to leave when I felt a presence enter the room. I sucked in my breath and held it, waiting for Christine to come back, but I knew it wasn't her at all. 

"Erik," I whispered, but there was no response. I decided to leave him to his labyrinth, but not before saying, "I see you," and "you will never change for me."

* * *

Why was _she _here? To think that after all I had been through, she would come _after _ my torment ceased! How _dare_ she! Why had she waited for me after all this time? How can this girl still trust in the innocence I no longer obtain? _I will never change for her..._ Hah! Was she not with the hunting party meant to kill me? I am a monster now... How can she still find faith in _me_? 

I watched her leave, wishing that she could stay and just stand there so that I could see her, really see her, but she left with my music box. I began to pack hastily before anyone returned. I would now have to leave my home because of Christine.

_Oh Christine! How I dote on thee! How I still love thee, despite thy rebuke on me._

I played with the gold ring on my finger, my only reminder of her. Raoul had won and I was left alone to reminisce on what could have been. My trip to London would be a good one, away from the memories and torment. A new beginning.

I packed my bags with haste. No one would know me there, and maybe the English will be kinder than the French. 

I stopped packing when I noticed the mask lying sideways on the throne. Meg must have picked it up when she found the music box. I smiled at the thought of her childlike innocence. Why did she have the respect to leave my mask of hatred, and take the one thing left that was magical and pure in my life? What ignorance was this? To have faith like a child and believe in someone who had passed the point of no return. How can she care for a mad man? Indeed, she has grown, but her thoughts and feelings are still that of an abused twelve-year-old.

I thought of how she had grown... so beautiful indeed. Her beauty can almost match that of Christine. I noted the long blonde hair and beautiful green eyes, like a cat. Even her movements were that of a feline predator. Did she even realize the grace to which was her nature? Taller than Christine, she was, whereas Christine was small and petite, Meg was long and elegant. Christine had very long brown curly hair that reached the small of her back. Meg had wavy blonde hair just past her shoulders and shorter when curled for performances. Christine had bright blue eyes that mirrored your soul. Meg had deep green eyes with a soul of their own. Where Christine was pale and creamy, Meg had a honeyed glow from her travels abroad to study dance. As Christine was a jumpy little sprite, Meg was always at ease, and completely comfortable within her own body. Christine was unafraid to express herself, although shy when it came to the stage, as Meg was about as silent and mysterious as I am, but open and alive when dancing.

I must admit that at first I was appalled by her dancing, but lately she had been improving, although her mother never seemed to notice.

Madame Giry was always very critical of her dancers, and I'm sure that Meg felt even more intimidated than the rest with her mother being the dance coordinator. I had met her when she was but pregnant with Meg some twelve years before I was approached with the opportunity of creating an opera house. That time was a dark and despairing time for me as I had had spent the year in a cage playing the piano for an evil man who had threatened to kill me should I do otherwise. He had caught me with a net, the way a man catches a beast, saying that I was not human because of my face and that I was a disgrace to nature. He owned a traveling zoo of sorts and I was his main attraction. Regrettably, I had killed him for my freedom a year after my capture.

After that, I had been in love with a blind woman, the youngest daughter of a king, a king who respected me. But she died before I could express my love to her. I already knew of her love for me I had managed to gain the love and respect of the entire royal family. I hadn't felt respect in that like for a while afterwards, until I met a twelve year old fuzzy blonde with gigantic emerald eyes, and mannerisms of a shadow.

Meg hardly resembled her mother; a pale, black haired lady shorter than even Christine, but with the same green eyes and graceful movements. I know that Meg looked like someone that I knew, I just couldn't recall it at the time. My thoughts returned to my packing as I discarded the mask with a flick of my hand. I was tired of hiding, tired of being treated like an animal who should be hunted down. For the first time, in nineteen years, I would be me.

* * *

Entering the now empty dressing room that I shared with the dancers, I felt dizzy and light-headed. I stripped my clothes when another wave of dizziness swept over me. What kind of effect did my experience in the labyrinth have on me? A wave of nausea hit me as I entered the shower room. I was tired of this place, the emptiness of never being acknowledged for my hard work, and my lack of training. Mostly though, I was tired of the people, and feeling as if my walls were closing in around me. I needed space, freedom. I needed to be free of my mother, free of the opera house, free of Erik.

I felt my body give way to sudden dizziness, and I found myself on the floor, surrounded in a pool of throw-up. I got scared. What was happening to me? I tried to get up, but found that my body was not responding to my commands. The water in the shower continued to pour on me and I knew that if I did not get up, I would drown. Something was leaking from my head, something sticky and wet, something too thick to be completely washed away with the water. It was _red..._

I felt my self choking on the water pouring down my face. I took in a gulp of water and fought for breath before everything grew gray, and then... all was black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up to voices and startling heat. A mild headache and some dizziness, I heard someone say, and then, a thank you doctor from my mother. I opened my eyes to find everything a bit fuzzy and mostly dark. I tried to speak but nothing came out except a grunt of pain. My head was numb, but my body felt so empty, that it hurt. I must have thrown up my insides as well as my food, because I felt like nothing was left to me except the heart that was beating rapidly. Whatever had happened had left me in a state of hollowness. My outsides were burning up, but inside was cold and empty. I shivered despite the heat. A wordless tune went floating through my head, before I realized that it was my music box sitting on my night table.

I tried to move but it felt as if my body were responding to commands that didn't belong to me. My body began to shake uncontrollably and I began coughing violently. What was happening?

My mother instantly rushed over to me and applied a wet cloth to my forehead. Immense pain practically took my breath away as it spread from my head to my abdomen to my knees. I cried out and my mother tried to calm me down, but I didn't want to be calm. I wanted the pain to stop, there was so much pain...

In and out I fell, into and out of this abyss of blackness, but I was more afraid to wake up in pain then to float aimlessly in the sea of nothing. It was actually quite comforting, what, with the constant tune in my head...

When I awoke again, my mother was smiling down at me and there were tears in her eyes. The pain was gone, but the dizziness was still there. I tried to sit up and my mother helped me. She said nothing, but got up and left. _What a beginning!_ I thought to myself as I closed my eyes and sighed. _I want to be noticed and suddenly I am, but not in the way I had intended._

My mother reentered with a letter in hand.

"Christine sent you this," she said handing it to me.

"Could you read it to me?" My voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper. She began: "My dearest Meg. I am sorry to hear of your illness; to think that no more than an hour after I had left you, you would be in this condition! I hope that you regain your strength. I want to thank you for your comfort and guidance. You have been a true friend to me. Now Raul and I are unpacking, but at least we made it here safely. Is everyone okay? with the exception of your sickness and all. Oh! Meg you have to see it here! It's beautiful. Will you be here for the wedding? It's in about a month, I pray you attend. Anyway, I must end this letter, it is about midnight, and I must get some sleep. Reply soon. Your friend, Christine."

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	2. Meg 2

I look out the window of my new English home and watch strangers try unsuccessfully to avoid the rain. It's the first time in a long time that I've looked through a window; first time I've had any light besides that of a candle. It hurts to open my eyes to sunlight; it's scary to sleep at night without the sound of water on stone or rats that scurry about. It's not the same playing piano in a furnished room with red carpeting and a golden chandelier. Yet it's not so much the house that bothers me. It's the loneliness. 

Staring out the window, I let my fingers play what they will on the piano as I try to forget everything. I am not depressed, just tired and bored. I have opened an advertisement to those seeking a room in which to shelter themselves for a cheap price. Cheaper than I guess the rooms are worth; considering that I offered to feed them lunch and dinner and gave them free roam of the manor; but I don't care about money. I have saved enough to last me the rest of my life as a king if I wanted. All I ask is that they do not bother me. 

I have three boarders right now: A young dance instructor named David who has requested the use of my ballroom in the mornings for his students. I gave him permission on account that he leaves it to me in the evenings. There is a doctor that is staying here named Emmanuel Montgomery who is mostly out all day long and is sleeping in the afternoons. He has requested to use one of my rooms for what, I don't know. I also gave him permission. And then there is a woman who just lost her secretary job for apartment renting. Her name is Amelia. I am thinking of asking her to work for me so that people's shock when they come to rent a room and see my face will not be necessary. They just won't see me at all. I refuse to wear any kind of mask again.

"Erik?" The voice startled me out of my trance and I turned to see little Amelia standing at the entrance of the ballroom. The ballroom is my favorite room of the manor. It is lit by candle and the floors- despite the red carpet in one corner of the room- are tiled. Big red velvet curtains cover the giant window which occupies an entire wall and gives it a warm feeling. The room itself is about as big as a house and completely empty, save the piano. Amelia stood in front of the double doors that led out into the entry way which held a grand staircase leading up to two more floors consisting of about twenty rooms each. She looks small in comparison to the room. 

"What?" I ask hoarsely, turning back to the window, but stopping my fingers on the piano.

"That was beautiful. What you were playing." She spoke with awe, but my irritation at her interruption vanquished any pleasure I found in her compliment. " Did you make that up?"

"What may I do for you Miss Croswell?" My voice sounded a little too harsh I fear, for she backed up instinctively, as someone would do to a wild animal. I wasn't in the mood to talk.

"N-Nothing, I was just... I mean...um... goodnight." She turned to leave and I let her. Pretty little thing she was. Long blonde hair pulled up into a loose bun; a crooked nose, but otherwise delicate facial features. Brown eyes and thin lips that I'm sure were always smiling when she wasn't in my presence. She was petite, just like Christine, and jumpy too. I don't think the girl could sing a note to save her life, but she did have a dancer's body and might have danced at one time in her life. She was here all day, seeing as she was jobless; and I gave her the room for free until she found a new job. Maybe if I employed her, it would keep her busy and away from me. 

I had only been here a month, but it seemed as if it had been a year. Christine's wedding was today. It said so in the newspaper. 

Okay, so maybe I was depressed, but depression gave in to loneliness. No one would want to marry this face. Why, I ask myself, did God put me here in a world full of hypocrites who claim to see past the obvious and the facade, but really make up one for themselves by saying such? Did he laugh at my misfortune as so many others had? Why couldn't he at least create a cold heart to go along with this hideous form? Why waste a perfectly good heart?  
I heard laughter and soft whispering outside the doors. I had told my renters that they may invite whom they wish as long as I am not disturbed. The sound was disturbing to me. Maybe I was just trying to find a reason to be angry; actually I'm more than sure that that's exactly what I was doing. But I needed to let my frustration out. No excuse of course, but more of a fact at the moment; an urgent need to release before it consumed and killed me. With great force, I slammed my fist into the piano and headed towards the double doors. The laughter had stopped, but the hushed voices had panic in them. I heard running and the creak of stairs. A scream emanated from what I soon found to be quite an attractive female, as her heel got caught on the edge of a step and fell into the staircase. She and the dance instructor were obviously drunk. 

As I pushed through the doors, I paused a moment and took in the scene. The young woman was crying as her knee was bleeding profusely and the third stair in my staircase was broken in. David sat on the floor and laughed maniacally at her. They both had tears running down their cheeks, hers from the pain no doubt, his from what he perceived to be hilarious. I believe he was too drunk to see the blood or anything at the moment. But my beliefs were wrong. I soon realized that what he was laughing at was me. When the woman saw me, she began crying harder. It's amazing how someone's true colors can be exposed when drunk... or angry.

With great speed, I moved to David and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him off the ground with one hand. And surprisingly enough, he laughed harder, as if it were all a game. The woman began screaming uncontrollably, as in her drunken state she could only probably see a monster. I didn't care. I shook David vigorously, and now, despite his efforts to continue laughing, he began to choke. The woman's screaming brought Miss Amelia and Doctor Montgomery down the stairs. The doctor immediately began tending to the screaming woman, and Amelia approached me slowly as if I were a prisoner gone mad. I hadn't realized that I'd been screaming also until my head hurt. David continued to choke and laugh. I continued screaming at him. His face was turning blue, and yet I made an unconscious decision not to let him go until he stopped laughing at me. There was panic in Amelia's face as she attempted to pry my fingers from his throat. I couldn't quite hear what she was saying. Only the tug of my pant leg got my attention long enough to make me stop and drop David. A little boy stood there with brown curls and a curious face. He was no more than five or six, and yet, he didn't seem afraid of me at all. Instead, he had a face full of determination and anger. 

"Put my daddy down." I dropped David and stared at the little boy. All was silent except for the small whimpers of the woman with the bloody knee. David lay passed out from my choking him. The little boy looked up at me with such bravery, I almost took a step back.

"H-He was... laughing at me." I sounded like a fool, and hated myself at that moment. Maybe I was going insane. The little boy pushed by me and knelt down by his father. I turned and headed back to the ballroom without a word. 

After closing the doors behind myself, I stood there for a while. Only five minutes had passed in my tirade of anger, and I almost killed a man. Had I no self control? When I finally left the ballroom, everyone was gone, and the house had returned to it's deadly quiet. The rain had stopped, I could feel it, and for the first time in forever, I sighed.


End file.
